Actions

Work Header

erasing you hurts less than missing you

Work Text:

 

 

“Hey, Suna. What’d you do to Miya and why does he look like he can’t wait to bash your head in?”

 

Rintarou blinks. He glances at Komori, then to the person in question. He does seem like he’s getting ready to stuff Rin’s body in a trunk and throw it to the sea. Less likely. He’s probably going to spike such a hard serve at him that it’ll cause a concussion. More than likely.

 

He rolls his eyes as he says, “I did nothing.”

 

Komori snickers as they continue to watch Atsumu warm up at the other side of the court. Yet, every now and then, they would feel his eyes glaring at their side, narrowing at the middle blocker.

 

“Nothing my ass, he’s been trying to send you to the hospital.”

 

Trying, is the keyword. Every time Atsumu would practices a serve, the ball would coincidentally hit a few feet away from Rin’s body. Any person who’s been in the receiving end knows just how hard his services can go. It can even make Komori complain.

 

Their eyes catch each other and the glee from Atsumu’s eyes disappears as they gaze at one another. Rintarou’s the first to look away.

 

“Don’t mind him.” He mutters, “he’s probably in a mood.”

 

Komori shrugs, “alright, but if you do get sent to the hospital, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

 

The whistle blows.

 

.

.

.

 

EJP Raijin loses the first set to Jackals. The four monsters in the team were dominating the court, even more so than normal. The number 12 had been unstoppable with his tight crosses, the power of his spikes shaking Rintarou awake. The little orange bird had been able to distract most of the blockers and while the stuck-up raven barely gave way for faulty receives. Add the fact that Atsumu seemed to have a personal vendetta against Rintarou—let’s just say he’s been on his knees on more pleasurable conditions.

 

“Is it just me,” Washio murmurs, “or are they agitated?”

 

Rather than the boisterous mood MSBY usually brings to the court, they’ve been silent, stewing, stifling, suffocating.

 

Komori nods, “Bokuto’s too quiet.”

 

They all survey the team in black and Rintarou tries to assess them all, but his eyes keep on straying to shock of blonde hair. He’s still glaring at Rin.

 

Their captain urges them to stay focused and keep up. They might lose this match, but they’re not throwing it away too easily. They get back up on the court and Rintarou’s among the back line and of course, he’s fucking serving.

 

There’s not much that scares Rintarou. But he’d be a liar to deny that the intense focus of Miya Atsumu and the power he brings to his serves are terrifying. He breathes out as he waits for the whistle and—

 

.

.

.

 

“Fuck!”

 

“Suna, fuck!”

 

“He’s bleeding!”

 

“Take him out!”

 

.

.

.

 

When he wakes up, Rintarou is greeted with the harsh glare of the overhead lights. He’s back in the changing room, lying on one of the benches and there’s a dull throb on his face. He brings a hand to feel the damage and finds it hilarious that he can’t feel anything.

 

That bastard.

 

They lost the match. His team relays that Atsumu wasn’t faulted because really, he was just serving. However, he was given a stern warning from his coach and perhaps a few rough shoves from the team.

 

“You want me to help you back home?” Washio offers.

 

Rintarou sighs and as much as he wants to deny, he’d probably end up sprawled on the streets if he didn’t have assistance in going home. Before he even gets to agree, the door to the lockers open and in comes waltzing in the fucking devil bastard himself.

 

“Here I thought yer’ in the hospital.”

 

His teammates who lingered and checked-up on Rintarou bristle and they form a blockade in front of Rintarou, which he finds cute, but honestly. He can handle himself.

 

“Guys, it’s fine.” He says, “he won’t hurt me.”

 

Komori scoffs, “he literally did. An hour ago. To the face.”

 

“An accident,” Rintarou placates. “Right, Atsumu?”

 

The blonde bares his teeth, as if taunting, “sure. Accident.”

 

With a few more assurances, the rest of the team leaves, with a threatened promise to the blonde that if Atsumu further injures their middle blocker, they’re gonna make sure he doesn’t play for the rest of the season. Then,

 

Then it’s just the two of them.

 

Rintarou shifts in his seat, hand holding a pack of ice over his nose and squinting at Atsumu who’s still looking down on him with arms crossed. His serious face is weird, reminds him too much of—

 

“...It was an accident.” Atsumu admits, although a bit forced, “besides, why would I try to take you out of the court when your team’s one of the few that make the league interesting.”

 

“Yeah, I know. It was too fast for me.” Rintarou pats the space beside him, “aren’t you tired, standing there?”

 

“What happened on court might be an accident,” Atsumu says with a hard voice, “but if I come any closer, I might just punch you.”

 

Rintarou swallows and puts down the ice pack. He avoids looking at the man in front of him, focusing rather on his shoes’ laces and anything but the man in front of him.

 

“You hurt him, Suna.”

 

He sighs.

 

“Don’t fucking sigh as if it’s such a weight on you. Don’t you fucking dare say yer’ hurtin’ too.”

 

Rintarou sharply looks at him, “Fuck you.”

 

Atsumu mocks him and steps a bit closer, leaning down. His hands raise, as if to grab him, throw him, but it stops midway. “If I didn’t respect his wishes, ya’ would be hoppin’ on one leg.”

 

Rintarou shoves him, “No, fuck you. It’s none of your business.”

 

“None of my business?” Atsumu laughs and levels him with a piercing glare, “he’s my brother. Ya’ hurt ‘im and yer’ tellin’ me, it’s none of MY business?”

 

“It was mutual, Atsumu. It’s not like I decided it on my own.” He grits out, “He agreed.”

 

“He agreed because he loved you too much.” His voice echoes into the room and rings. He loved you too much. Too much. He may sound steady but Rintarou knows that he’s furious at him.

 

“He agreed because it was what you wanted and,” Atsumu runs a hand through his hair, “ya’ knew. You knew, he’d give you anything you wanted, Suna.”

 

Rintarou’s promised himself that he wouldn’t cry. He was the one who called and ended a relationship that was built on years and years of friendship and experiences and lo—he’s not going. to. cry.

 

The both of them are quiet for a few minutes before he hears Atsumu move closer again and he closes his eyes, wary when he feels hands hover over him.

 

“I’m not gonna hurt ya’, Sunarin.”

 

“I can feel your eyes trying to throw me to the wall.”

 

“Can’t blame me, now can ya’?” Atsumu pulls him up and he grabs both of their bags. “Let’s talk outside, huh?”

 

.

.

.

 

They find themselves sitting on one of the benches outside the arena. The wind is cool, and the sun is barely setting, calming the pain that’s been trying to burst out of Rintarou since weeks ago.

 

“So,” Atsumu side-eyes him before taking a sip of his water, “ya’ wanna tell me why?”

 

“You my shrink now?”

 

“A concerned friend.”

 

“You literally threatened to hurt me seconds ago.”

 

“Ya’ well, you broke my brother’s heart,” Atsumu shifts his gaze upwards, squinting at the pastels that has started to chase each other in the sky, “but he broke yours also.”

 

Rintarou’s breath hitches and his hand grips at his thighs, “...I- it’s not that I don’t love him anymore.”

 

“Uh huh, so why’d ya’ do it?” His voice has gotten soft, “why didn’t you...try harder?”

 

“I did!” Rintarou’s voice is loud in his head and it rings, the desperation and sadness and pain that’s been consuming him. He looks at Atsumu, face twisting as the heat in his throat burns the truth, “I tried, Atsumu!

 

But it just got so hard when it felt like he didn’t want us anymore.”

 

“It was easier, when we were in the same place all the time, but after moving here and we both got so busy, don’t you think it was inevitable that our focus to one another will shift?” Atsumu’s looking at him as if he’s grown a second head. He looks too much like him during the time Rintarou had said the words I’m sorry. It enrages him, “Don’t fucking look like that! He never talked to me! He was always too busy with his shop, and I-“ He lets out a shaky breath, “you know I’d always support whatever he wanted and if it were... if it were a future without me anymore, then why should I cling to something I’ve already lost?”

 

He regards Atsumu with solemn eyes, “I love him, but I respect myself enough to not hurt because of him.”

 

“But you’re hurting, Sunarin.” It’s a statement. “Probably hurtin’ more than you’d expected.”

 

Rintarou lets out a small laugh, “I know.”

 

Atsumu hums, “ya’ know, that night after you called, he called me. I’ve never—” He clears his throat, “I’ve never heard him sound so broken, Sunarin.”

 

“He never told me anything, Atsumu. It was as if the distance made him realize how much he didn’t nee—

 

“Don’t finish that sentence.” The blonde glances at him as he stands up, stretching his arms, “We both know that isn’t true.

 

He loved you, Sunarin. Still does.”

 

Rintarou can’t wrap his head around the fact that he might still love him. “Easy for you to say, you’re not him.”

 

“I know but,” Atsumu pats his shoulder with gentleness that reminds him so much of—“in this situation, who gets to know both sides of the story?”

 

Rintarou looks at him with surprise and he’s so desperate in saying his name and asking how he is and if he’s moved on and if he still loves him and—

 

The trill of a ringtone breaks his thoughts.

 

Atsumu pulls out his phone and answers, “Ya’ miss me already?” A teasing tone in his voice. Rintarou has half the mind to ask if it’s him but as he processes the fact that Atsumu knows what his story is, he hears the blonde say “alright, Omi-Omi, I’m on the way.” Rintarou looks away.

 

“Sorry fer’ the face, Sunarin. Honest mistake.” Atsumu ruffles his hair and Rintarou bats his hand away, grumbling. “Gotta leave now, or they’re gonna leave me behind.”

 

“Mm.”

 

“If space’s what ya’ need, ya’ have it,” He says it with such a know-it-all tone that it ticks Rintarou off, “but ya’ better make good use of it, hm?” Then he’s gone.

 

It was meant to be comforting, but it did nothing to quell confusion and pain. What did he mean make good use of the space? After all, the only thing that can fill that void has been carved out and left him grasping for what once was.